


Just Curious

by Anamakorga



Category: Original Work
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Gen, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 21:46:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anamakorga/pseuds/Anamakorga
Summary: Tyler of C.He wonders what it means.He's been told the memories will come back.He isn't sure he believes it.He feels sick.Tyler hasn't been human for a long time.





	Just Curious

Tyler.

Tyler.

His name is Tyler, and he was just curious.

That was all. 

That was supposed to be all he had to say.

He couldn’t give her a last name because he didn’t have one. 

She was freaking out at him.

He was just freaking out.

Someone else came in, her black hair done up in a bun he would never have been able to replicate.

He recognized her, and he had been told this would happen.

He recognized her, but he didn’t know why.

Anais, his brain supplied, from seemingly nowhere.

Salvation, his brain supplied, from seemingly nowhere.

“Tyler!” She says. “What are you doing here?”

He can’t answer. He's still recalling things he doesn’t know. Anais is smart. 

Anais  _ is discovery. _

That snaps him out of it.

“I was just curious.” He stammers.

Anais looks at him with something between pity and sorrow.

“Of course.” She sighs, then snaps back to her regular tone of voice. “Here’s your key. 309. Third floor, then to the left.”

He takes it.

He nods, and Anais-

Anais.

Anais.

He  has to  remember her name.

It’s the only thing he knows from his past.

Anais pulls the first woman back into the room behind the front desk.

His name is Tyler, and he’s just curious.

He takes the stairs.

He’s scared of elevators.

He doesn’t know why.

His room is bedecked with  _ things.  _

Something tells him most hotel rooms are not like this.

It’s neat.

It’s tidy.

He likes those things, he realizes.

“My name is Tyler.” He says to himself. Anais confirmed that when she said it.

He sits on the bed, which is piled with so many quilts and blankets he has some difficulty getting on top of it.

There’s something familiar about them.

There are posters on the walls for cartoons he’s never heard of, and shelves with action figures he’s never seen.

Stacked on his bedside table is stationary, with doodles all around the borders. Every one of them is signed ‘Tyler of C’ in fancy script.

These things are his, or so he was told before coming in.

He buries himself under half a dozen blankets.

These things are his, but they’ll never feel like it.


End file.
